


I Know I Am But Summer To Your Heart

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Community: makinghugospin, Id Fic, Infidelity Kink, M/M, PWP, madonna/whore complex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following kink meme prompt (http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13289.html?thread=8901609t8901609): </p>
<p>"Modern AU where Combeferre and Grantaire live together, either as brothers, roommates, or just really good friends. Enjolras is in a relationship with Combeferre, but they've never had sex. Enjolras tells him he's asexual, or waiting for marriage, or something of the sort, so Combeferre never pushes the sex issue. But the truth is, Enjolras is having (very frequent) sex with Grantaire.</p>
<p>Enjolras spends the night at their house only to sneak out of Combeferre's bed and into Grantaire's after C is asleep, then crawl back in later filled with R's come and covered in R's scent. E&R sneak away together at parties and various social gatherings and get off on the chance that they might get caught - the higher the risk, the more they enjoy it. Enjolras really does love Combeferre, and feels bad about lying to him, but he has feelings for Grantaire as well and damn if E&R don't both get off on the mutual betrayal. And Combeferre never suspects a thing from virtuous, virginal Enjolras."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know I Am But Summer To Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Never even knew I had this kink. Oh well.

Enjolras gasps as his hands grasp the headboard, his legs spread as Grantaire pushes into him.

‘Shhh,’ Grantaire says, his voice hushed but insistent and his smile wicked. ‘You know how thin the walls are.’

Enjolras bites his lip and whimpers as Grantaire tightens his grip on his hips.

‘You do know how thin the walls are, don’t you?’ He wraps a hand around Enjolras’s cock and twists his fingers in the way he’s learnt will make him respond with a harsh gasp, then brings his head down and sucks hard at Enjolras’s lower lip. 

Enjolras nods assent, turning his head away to stifle his cries in Grantaire’s pillow.

Grantaire’s smile grows cruel. ‘Go on, just a bit louder – you know how little it would take to show your boyfriend what a fucking slut you are?’

Enjolras, close to coming, tilts his hips up. ‘Please – come on, keep talking, make me beg – tell me how much of a whore I am -’

‘Do you think he’s still asleep, with you making all this noise? What do you think he’d say if he could see you like this, see you spread wide open and begging for my cock?’

He keeps talking until Enjolras comes, hot with arousal and shame.

-

Combeferre’s fingers twist gently in Enjolras’s hair. They are twined together on Combeferre’s bed, their conversation punctuated with the exchange of chaste, respectful kisses. Enjolras’s mornings are Combeferre’s, as his nights are Grantaire’s.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Combeferre says. ‘It’s an honour just to be with you. I don’t want you to feel pressured but god, Enjolras, just tell me whenever you feel okay with going further than this –’

Enjolras does not feel beautiful, or anything like the pedestaled being Combeferre believes him to be. He knows he is unworthy of the trust his boyfriend places in him and the patience he displays, and he tells himself that Combeferre’s devotion should not be bestowed on one so undeserving.

He looks up at Combeferre, nevertheless, and returns his smile, accepts another slow and careful kiss. 

‘I love you,’ Enjolras tells him. ‘Soon, I promise.’ 

-

Enjolras concludes his speech with his eyes fixed on Combeferre’s gently supportive gaze in the crowd, and with the taste of Grantaire still on his tongue. 

As soon as he’s finished his address, almost before the room has stopped applauding, he lets Grantaire have him up against the wall of the corridor outside, his hand on his cock, almost too far gone to care if anyone sees.

Enjolras turns his head aside, baring his throat, breathing harshly. 

‘Oh god – mark me, please –’

‘You sure?’ Grantaire hardly waits for permission, lowering his head and kissing, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise on the flawless skin above Enjolras’ collarbone. He moves his mouth up to hiss into the shell of his ear:

‘Need to cover that up once you get back in there, won’t you? Or do you want him to see – let him find out how debauched his little angel really is?’

Enjolras shakes his head desperately. This is all so wrong. 

-

Combeferre has his head bent over his books, fixated on study. Enjolras’ affectionate gaze across at him is interrupted as Grantaire shoves a rough hand into his hair, pulling his head back until their lips meet in a split-second stolen kiss. 

Drawing back, Grantaire slides a hand down to Enjolras’ ass and clutches hard, smiling as he stifles a gasp that almost brings them Combeferre’s attention, but not quite.

-

Lying next to Combeferre, watching his chest rise and fall in gentle, untroubled sleep, Enjolras stares into the darkness and replays the last half-hour in flashes of agonized arousal. 

He remembers riding Grantaire hard on the living-room floor, and then remembers sucking his cock so deep he chokes on it, remembers sitting back on his heels and letting Grantaire come, with a smirk, all over his face and hair.

He recalls trying to stand, and remembers accepting Grantaire’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down.

‘Stay like that, on your knees – I want to remember you like this, okay? Something to keep me going when I can’t have the real thing.’

Enjolras recalls submitting with relief, his mouth open, licking the taste of Grantaire off his lips. 

‘You’re really into this, aren’t you?’ Grantaire says, almost disbelieving, almost worshipful. ‘God, the state you’re in – if he could see you like this… do you think he has any idea how much of a whore you can be?’ 

-

Sometimes Enjolras thinks about asking Combeferre to take him like this, wonders if Combeferre could be induced to drag him up by the collar and sling him over his desk, or over his bed, and show him no respect, no mercy, if he’d be able to fuck him like the unrepentant slut he wants to be.

Instead, he accepts his boyfriend’s reverent, respectful touches, careful to go no further than Enjolras permits him. He has no idea how to ask for what he wants, knowing only how to take it, how to submit to things that he could never ask Combeferre to give him.

-

‘I don’t think you even love him’, Grantaire says, between harsh, deliberate thrusts that make Enjolras moan obscenely underneath him. ‘I think the only thing you love is a stiff dick up your arse – don’t you?’ 

On his back on Combeferre’s bed, dizzy with pleasure, Enjolras clutches the headboard tighter, until it hurts. He opens his mouth under the insistent press of Grantaire’s tongue. He shakes his head, but he has no idea what the answer might be.

-  
‘You know he’s out right now, yeah? So you can be as loud as you want, be as much of a slut as you like. Is that what you want?’

Enjolras, legs spread, wide open, is caught between affirmation and denial. The freedom to give in and enjoy what Grantaire is doing to him conflicts with his desire to have some trace, some memory of Combeferre, to underline how wrong this is, how reckless. 

He pictures his boyfriend’s reverent touch, a world away from Grantaire’s disrespectful clutches of his ass as his cock drives in, his careless bites at Enjolras’ bare skin, leaving marks he’ll have to hide in order not to explain away in the morning. 

He opens his mouth under the press of Grantaire’s tongue, submits to kisses that leave him gasping. 

‘Yes, please – oh god, I want you so bad –‘

‘Yeah? Make some noise for me then – fuck, I bet you’re not this quiet when you’re with him, right? I bet you open up and scream for him, let him know how much you want it - ’

He shakes his head, even though the answer is irrelevant. This is nothing like anything he could ask of Combeferre, nothing that could infect that sacred space between them. His mouth opens on a moan of Grantaire’s name, and as Grantaire thrusts harder he lets himself scream, louder than he likes to allow himself to be, catching Grantaire’s smile of satisfaction. 

-

‘Any time you like, and however you want it. It’s up to you. I’ll do whatever you want, you know that, just let me know –‘

Enjolras holds Combeferre’s gaze, their hands entwined, on the verge of a sleep he knows he won’t find dreamless.

‘I know – just not now, please – I’m sorry, I’m just not comfortable with – ‘

His boyfriend’s fingers brush across his lips, shushing, reassuring. ‘Okay, okay. It’s fine. Shall we just - ?’

‘Yes. Please.’

Enjolras smiles. Their arms around each other, tentative and chaste and almost comfortable, they slip into the lassitude that comes before sleep. His gentle embrace of Enjolras, careful and appreciative, feels sacrosanct. The remembrance of Grantaire’s hands on him, grasping, possessive and commanding, seem as insubstantial as the shadows that fall across the bed as he closes his eyes.

-

His hands are bound, his legs spread, and he feels helpless, given up to Grantaire’s control. He licks his lips, watching as Grantaire’s eyes flick up and down his naked body.

‘He’s gonna be back any minute, you know? Wondering where his little angel is, how he’s spent this afternoon – fuck, do you /want/ to get caught? Do you want him to catch you like this, see you spread wide open and begging for it?’

Enjolras shakes his head, his cock rock-hard in Grantaire’s grasp. He tilts his hips up with an edge of desperation, writhes and arches his back the way he knows will get him what he wants. 

‘Just make me come – come on, please – ’

Once they’re finished Grantaire stands up from the bed and surveys him. Enjolras is entirely debauched, breathing hard, come spattered up his chest and over his face, licked off his lips, and Grantaire’s eyes are wide, as though he wants to take a picture of this for posterity. 

‘I can’t believe how into this you are – fuck, you love it. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me if I asked, is there, you little whore?’

His breath comes hard. ‘I’ll do anything, just don’t – please, he can’t know –’ 

A harsh intake of breath. ‘Of course. He thinks his boyfriend’s pure as the driven snow.’

Enjolras turns his head to the side, away from Grantaire’s gaze. ‘Untie my hands. I need to – ’

He needs to get up off this bed, to shower, to get dressed, to get his breathing and his thoughts under control. Back to what they call normality. Grantaire’s mouth twists as he loosens the restraints.


End file.
